Pale Shadows
by thecountercurseisjustunjellify
Summary: Blaine is a man of few words. Not because he wants to be, but because he can't afford not to. In his world, each word brings you closer and closer to your demise. Once you surpass 1,000, speaking becomes fatal. Blaine only has twenty-four words left, and he plans to keep it that way. Of course, that's only until he meets a certain tall, handsome man. AU
1. Chapter 1

_"Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts."  
- Patrick Rothfuss_

Blaine Anderson was never a very outspoken individual. Of course, he simply couldn't afford to be. The prices for words had risen astronomically, so that only the very wealthy could afford to buy more.

He opened the door of his apartment, glad to be home after a long day of work. He worked at the local library, so all he had to do was stamp the return dates into the books when checked out. It required no words, which was good. The pay wasn't amazing, but at least it paid the bills.

Of course, it couldn't buy him more words.

He would complain, but it really didn't bother him all that much. That was just the way it was. Every baby, when born, received 1,000 words for their entire lifetime. Upon reaching adulthood, they could buy more words if they had the money for the operation, but if not they would die upon uttering another syllable.

If it was up to him, he would still have all 1,000 words and have saved enough money for 500 more. However, he still had serious debt to pay from the medical bills, and his availability in the job market was bad because of his low word count.

When he turned sixteen, he was officially old enough to start work in the factories. The pay was extremely low, but if he hoped that if he saved up to buy more words and get a better job.

He managed to get through his childhood only saying ten words. He still remembers them all. First, a "mommy" when he was three. His mother immediately shushed him, silently explaining that words were not to be wasted on names. Second, when he was six he said "Hi I'm Blaine!" to a girl in his daycare class. Once again, he was chastised and instructed not to waste his words on introductions.

The third time was when he was thirteen, and had stupidly decided to tell his mother he loved her, and she slapped him for wasting three more words. Words were not to be used on useless phrases, such as terms of endearment. That could me easily said in a hug or kiss.

So by the time he hit sixteen, all he needed to say at his job interview was, "I'll work hard." And with those three words, he was hired.

However, two days after he hit eighteen and decided to buy 500 more words, his mother fell ill. The doctors attempted to explain to him the disease, but he never really understood, and didn't want to waste the words to try to figure it out.

All he knew was that in order to pay her medical bills, he had to spend the money he'd saved up for his words. Not only that, but he had to find a new job, as the factory didn't pay him enough for the high bills.

Blaine searched and searched for a new job, but the only one that would pay enough for his mother's medical bills happened to be one of the most dreadful jobs of them all: answering telephones.

The job was at a big business, where the owners had enough money to buy a lifetime supply of words, but were too lazy to answer their own phones. So instead, they hired out those with high word counts in need of money to answer them for them. Slowly but surely, Blaine's words started to run out.

His mother eventually passed away when he turned twenty, and that was exactly when his word count had dropped so low that the business had fired him. Blaine's word count was low. Fatally low.

At twenty-one years old, Blaine had exactly twenty-four words left. Twenty-four words for the rest of his life.

Instead of wallowing in self pity, he got a job at the local library and vowed to keep his word count where it was. Instead of speaking, he would often find himself miming out various gestures.

His mother had never had enough money to pay for his education, so he only knew how to read, not to write. He had tried it before, and the letters all slipped around the page beneath his fingers.

He sat down on his couch, letting out a breath that he had been holding for quite too long. Not talking was far too easy, he could never understand how people made the fatal mistake of speaking past their count and overdosing.

When life was on the line, the clear choice was silence.

With that thought in mind, Blaine made his way to his bed. Twenty-four words. He could die in a matter of seconds, just by speaking one sentence. But what on earth would be important enough to waste words on?

To Blaine, all he could bring up was a fond memory of his mother. He gave up 966 words for her, all meaningless and forgotten.

Now that he had no one, twenty-four words would be more than enough for the rest of his days.

**Okay so this is my first ever Glee story so please be nice. I hope you liked it! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's Chapter 2! I'm glad that so many people like it. :) For those who mentioned that the plot reminded them of the movie _In Time_, I've never seen that movie, but I read the description and they are similar. :) **_  
_

_Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind.  
__- Rudyard Kipling_

When Blaine awoke the next morning, nothing seemed out of place. He climbed out of bed, wiping sleep from his eyes and stretching.

He looked over at his worn wardrobe to the right of his bed; he would wear the same thing he wore every day of his life. Black slacks, a button up white shirt, and a nametag. In the working world, it was widely known that names were not something to waste words on. Instead, they were written clearly on silver, government issued nametags.

He groggily got himself out of bed, and within minutes he had successfully managed to clothe himself despite his sleepy state.

Today was scheduled to go the same way as every other day. Wake up, get ready, work, come home, sleep. Every single week was identical to the one before it: as simple and easy as it could get.

However, Blaine often found himself growing bored with the rinse and repeat lifestyle. He remembered back when he was young, dreaming of having enough money to buy himself all the words he wanted. He could talk, he could tell stories, he could even be a singer.

Of course, singers were a far cry from what they used to be. Instead of performing live, singers would record their song once and then lip-sync it for the rest of their lives. This way, they used the least amount of words.

But Blaine had dreamed of being a real singer, writing songs and singing them live every time, adding his own flare into each performance.

In reality, he wasn't even sure he was any good at music. He'd never had enough money to buy himself an instrument, and he'd never sung a note in his life. Truthfully, he couldn't even read music.

With that sad memory in his mind, Blaine exited his small apartment and headed down the block to the library.

When he walked, Blaine typically found himself stuck in his head. He was used to the silence that perforated the streets. In richer districts, the air was filled with free talk full of how are you's and I love your sweater's. In the poorer districts, all that was to be heard was the quiet shuffling of feet. However, today the silence was interrupted by a sharp, mechanical cry.

A man was standing across the street with a megaphone in his hand, underneath a sign that read "Free Our Words." Blaine had heard of such activists before, but this was his first experience seeing one.

There were many activists who opposed the style of living that existed. The rich could talk freely, and the poor couldn't talk at all. This led to all different kinds of issues. The rich controlled the majority of government, and those lower class officials that did make it couldn't speak enough to make their ideas heard.

So there rose a certain group of activists who would protest the government on public squares. Blaine looked around; there were numerous scared looking citizens on the street that had an expression of fright on their faces, which he was sure he shared. They all knew what this protestor planned to do.

He was going to break the law through the direct opposition of the government, and then escape arrest by speaking past his word count.

"The government is run by the rich! The only reason the operation isn't given to every citizen is because then the poor would have a voice! Well I am the voice of the poor!" He screamed into the megaphone.

There was a look of unrest on the street, not out of disagreement with the activist but in fear of being linked to him. People hurriedly walked to their jobs, avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

Blaine suddenly found himself alone on the street, staring at the activist as he screamed about the government. He felt as if he should leave, to just get to the library where it was safe. But there was a small part of him that was curious. It took him a few seconds to realize that there in fact was another man about fifty feet to his left.

Instead of looking scared like the rest, this man looked angry. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver rectangular box. A cell phone. This man was rich. Blaine knew what the man was doing without having to ask. He was calling the police.

Within minutes, police cars swarmed the square. The protestor looked surprised and caught the eyes of the man across the street. He lifted the megaphone to his lips, offering one last cry.

"Why, Kurt?" He yelled, anger evident in his voice, "if I want to die for this cause, I will!"

The man, supposedly named Kurt, just shook his head. The police struggled as they got the man into the vehicle, placing a sort of muzzle over his mouth to prevent him from speaking. Whether they were trying to save his life or prevent his powerful words, Blaine did not know.

When the police vans finally began to roll away, Kurt began to scan the street. When he caught eyes with Blaine, Blaine found himself suddenly out of breath.

Kurt was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man he had ever seen. His face was structured, his eyes piercing. Blaine found himself unable to look away, even though Kurt's expression was a curious one.

Blaine knew where this would lead, and quickly walked in the other direction towards the library. Kurt would assume that since he had remained on the street to watch that he was also an activist, and report him. Either that, or he would attempt to start a conversation.

Either way, both were deadly.

Once Blaine arrived inside the library, he let out a sigh of relief.

In all honesty, his worry was not that the man would have started a conversation with him, because why would he? Blaine was just a simple, poor man with nothing exciting about him. His true fear was that he himself would have tried to start a conversation.

Seeing Kurt, seeing the most handsome man he had ever seen, was the first time in eight years that he had felt the urge to say wasteful words. For eight entire years, he had stopped himself from speaking what was unnecessary, and, so he thought, eradicated the desire to ever do so.

But now, there was one word that plagued his mind. One word that made him want to run out of the library and find Kurt, to scream it on the top of his lungs and whisper it in his ear at the same time. One single word to waste, one that would indubitably lead to his demise.

_Hello._


	3. Chapter 3

__**Hey guys! Here's Chapter Three! I hope you guys like it. Lots more Klaine interactions in this one. ;)**

_The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed_

- _C. G. Jung_

Blaine hurriedly shuffled behind his desk, trying to calm himself down from his almost encounter.

The man, supposedly Kurt, was just an ordinary man. With extraordinary looks. But there was probably nothing special about him. He called the cops on an activist, and he was pretty wealthy.

In reality, he probably held no interest in Blaine.

Blaine rested his chin on his hand, focusing on the poster on the desk that warned about late library books. The sign read "_READ THIS: Late books = $10 fine."_ A woman approached the desk, holding a children's book out to him.

Blaine took the book and scanned it, then stamped it with the return date. The woman offered a smile, and then walked away. This was the nature of the library. Soundless interaction, unless something is written on paper.

He once had a woman attempt to start a conversation with him by holding up a book titled _How Are You?, _but the conversation didn't mature past a halfhearted thumbs up.

Blaine heard the bell at the door ring, signaling another customer. He didn't bother to look up, and scanned the shelf of books that needed to be reshelved instead. He rose, walking over to examine it more closely. Most were children's books, and a few made by famous authors.

He picked up his favorite one, the play _Hamlet,_ which he had read numerous times. The main characters often gave large soliloquies to lament about their sorrows. Some conversations were over 1,000 words in length. Blaine wished he could go back to that world, where words were free to be said as much as one wished.

But evolution had kicked that ability. Some while back, natural selection had decided that talking was a waste of time and not crucial for survival. Slowly the ability to speak dwindled, until it eventually tapered off at 1,000 words.

Blaine's thoughts were cut off by the slamming of a book on the checkout desk. Blaine quickly looked over, and felt his heart skip a beat.

It was Kurt, who had yet to see him at the shelf.

"Hello? Is there anyone here? I need to check out a book." Kurt called, and Blaine was amazed at the silkiness of the man's tone. Several patrons looked over, obviously surprised at the use of so many words.

Blaine walked out from behind the shelf, offering an awkward wave and smile. Kurt's eyebrows rose in impatience, and then Blaine realized it: he didn't recognize him.

Hurriedly, he ran back to the desk, his hands awkwardly shaky for an unknown reason. He grabbed Kurt's book, not even bothering to look at the title. He had to get Kurt to notice him.

He couldn't explain why, but he felt as if he needed to get to know this man. But he had no words to spare, so what could he do?

He slowly stamped the inside cover of the book and handed it back to Kurt. Kurt smiled and turned to leave, causing Blaine to nervously tap the desk to get his attention again.

Kurt turned, looking slightly annoyed, and looked at Blaine, who desperately searched his desk for anything he could use. He wished he had the copy of _How Are You?_ with him, which would make conversation easier.

With a dash of excitement, Blaine spotted the late library books sign. He grabbed it, and used his hands to cover up the T and S in THIS, so that it simply said "Hi."

Kurt smiled, and Blaine felt his heart stutter. Kurt was most definitely the most attractive man he had ever come face to face with.

"Hi." Kurt awkwardly answered, though he still had a hint of a smile on his face.

Blaine was stuck, where did he go from here? He frantically looked around his desk for something else, but could not find a thing.

"Um, do you have anything else to say?" Kurt asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. Blaine shook his head and pointed to his voice box, offering a sad half smile.

"You're low on words." Kurt said, immediately picking up on his message. Obviously Kurt had dealt with someone low on words before, as most of the wealthy didn't know how to communicate with the poor and ended up speaking to them like they were monkeys.

"How many do you have?" Kurt whispered. Low word counts were not something to share, as they lowered one's worth as a person. There wasn't much a person could do without words.

For some reason, Blaine felt as if he could trust Kurt. That, or he simply wanted someone other than his boss to know. He held up a two and a four on his hands.

"Two hundred and forty? That's not that bad!" Kurt assured him with a smile. Blaine sadly shook his head, once again holding up a two and a four.

"Tw—twenty-four?" Kurt asked, stumbling on the words. It was rare that someone had such a low word count at such a young age. Blaine nodded sadly.

He wished nothing more to speak to this man, to tell him of all the thoughts that couldn't escape his head. He was intrigued, a rich man who knew how to deal with the poor. What was he doing in a low class library?

"I'm sorry. That's a shame, really." Kurt said with an air of pity. Blaine shook his head. The last thing he wanted was his pity. He held up a hand, and then ran to the shelves. He picked up book he practically knew by heart, and flipped to the fifty-second page.

He ran back to Kurt, holding his finger to the line that he wanted him to see. _I'm okay,_ it read. Kurt offered a sad smile.

"Listen, I wish you the best, but I really have somewhere to be." Kurt said, sadness evident in his voice. Blaine looked down attempting to hide his disappointment. He lifted up a hand, waving a small goodbye.

Kurt nodded at him and then walked away. Blaine's eyes followed him all the way out the door. He wanted to talk more to the man.

_He has to come back to return the book, _Blaine thought elatedly. With this thought in mind, he ran to the back shelf in the library, ripping _How Are You? _off the shelf. It was a children's book about introductions, from back when words could still be wasted on such things.

When Kurt came back, he would be ready.

Suddenly, the door slammed open, causing the bell to ring violently. Blaine ran over to the front desk, only to find Kurt standing there out of breath.

"I changed my mind. I—I need another book. Give me a book, anything. Give me your favorite." Kurt quickly said. Blaine hurriedly reached into his bag, pulling out his own copy of _Hamlet_. He handed it to Kurt, a smile on his face.

Kurt's eyebrows raised at the realization that it wasn't a library book. Blaine was lending him his own copy, a gesture that said _I want to be friends_. Kurt smiled and took the book.

Gathering his confidence, Blaine committed himself to befriending this man. He was so intriguing, he couldn't help but want to know everything about him. With a shaky hand, Blaine held up the cover of the book in his hand.

_How Are You?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys! Sorry about the late update, but I just got back to school this week and it has been crazy. If this chapter is a little shorter, it's because I had less time to write. Next will be longer, I promise!**

_"Words are a pretext. It is the inner bond that draws one person to another, not words."_

_― Rumi_

_How Are You?_

Kurt's eyebrows shot up at the question. A small smile made its way to the corner of his mouth, where it rested there. Blaine couldn't help but focus on that minute corner of his face.

"Oh, uh, I'm good. H—um—how are you?" Kurt asked unsurely. Blaine gave a half smile and shrugged his shoulders.

Kurt nodded. He looked as if he had somewhere to be, but was putting it off for sake of the conversation. Blaine thought back to the arrested activist, the one that knew Kurt. Did it have something to do with him?

Blaine furiously turned the pages of _How Are You?_, attempting to find anything that could keep Kurt hooked. Finally, he found a good page.

_What's your name?_

Of course he already knew Kurt's name, but he wanted to hear him say it himself. Moreover, he wanted Kurt to ask the question to him, for him to point to his nametag, and for Kurt to say his name out loud. It had been years since he'd heard his name.

Kurt squinted at the page, and then smiled. "I'm Kurt Hummel," he offered. Blaine nodded. Kurt Hummel. The name seemed to slip around in his mind, working its way into crevices he had long forgot.

"And you're…Blaine?" Kurt asked. Blaine's heart skipped a beat at the sound of he name. He nodded furiously, a blush creeping up to his cheeks.

"And what's your last name, Blaine?"

The goers of the library gave Kurt an awkward look; they hadn't been eavesdropping, but everyone in this age knew what it sounded like when someone spoke a name. Speaking a name meant casual conversation, and for many of them casual conversation meant death. Kurt was likely unaware of how well known he was making his wealth.

Blaine scrambled to find a way to express his last name. An idea suddenly sparked, and he ran back to the stacks. He looked through the Shakespeare section, looking for a particular book. Finally, he found it.

It was titled _"Shakespeare" by Another Name, _and was written by a long dead journalist named Mark Anderson. Blaine had never read the book itself, but had often passed it in recognition of the shared last name. He grabbed the book off the shelf and rushed back to Kurt at the desk.

He held up the book, pressing his finger over the Mark. _Anderson._

"Anderson, Blaine Anderson." Kurt nodded happily, and Blaine felt as if he might die. It was a drug to him, hearing his full name. He wanted to be wrapped up in it, to sleep soundly to the faint sound of his name being uttered.

But that wasn't possible.

Even Kurt, who seemed to have enough money for all the words in the world, would never have enough to make that a reality. Names were a waste, Blaine reminded himself.

Still, he couldn't help but fight the urge to say Kurt's name out loud, to scream it on the top of his lungs. Blaine was in love with names, but it was a rather one-sided relationship. It was abusive, it was maddening, it was tragic.

Kurt quickly looked at his wrist, and Blaine realized he was looking at a watch. Watches were expensive, but it was possible to get old fashioned ones for a rather small amount. Kurt's watch was nothing special, just a ratty knitted band that made it look as if it was the cheapest watch he could find.

This was peculiar. Kurt had enough money to have what seemed like a lifetime supply of words, and yet he was wearing a very low class watch.

"I have to go." Kurt frowned, letting out a troubled sigh. Whatever it was he was procrastinating, it seemed serious. Blaine nodded, trying to convey his sympathy through a simply gesture.

"Um, I'll come back soon. It was really great talking to you, Blaine." Kurt smiled. Blaine watched woefully as Kurt walked out the door. He checked the stamp for the books. Kurt wouldn't be back to return his book for another two weeks.

With that thought in mind, Blaine sat down once again at his desk. He played Kurt's saying of his name over and over again in his mind. No matter what, he had to speak to Kurt again.

* * *

The rest of Blaine's shift passed in a blur, stamping books and giving noncommittal waves goodbye to the patrons of the library.

All he could think of was his successful conversation with Kurt, and the promise of at least one more. Though he was immensely pleased, he was also quite shaken.

He had wanted to waste words.

Again, for the second time in a single day, he had had to squelch the desire to say words out loud. Though his bumbling conversation with Kurt had seemed lovely, it had also been nearly fatal.

_I only have twenty-four words_, Blaine reminded himself. He had to stop being so careless. If he didn't get a hold of himself soon, he would speak his mind and run out of words and die.

And as of this afternoon, Blaine surely did not want to die.

He smiled once again, thinking of the way his name smoothly slipped out of Kurt's mouth. Blaine Anderson. Oh, what he would give to hear that again.

Blaine was once again caught up in his love of words. Words were precious gemstones: even though the could be spent, you simply wanted to protect them and never let them see the light of day.

He thought back to Shakespeare and his plays, to the tale of two young star-crossed lovers whose infatuation with each other surpassed all bounds. In only three days, they were able to achieve a romance that was adored for generations. In many ways, Blaine had the same relationship with words as the two infamous teenagers had with each other.

Of course, in reality, at the end all their love truly resulted in was destruction.


	5. Chapter 5

_"I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light."  
- Helen Keller_

When Blaine woke up the next morning, he was acutely aware of a banging at his door. He groggily kicked his sheets away, getting out of bed in perhaps the most ungraceful way possible.

When he arrived at the door and looked through the keyhole, he expected to see the government officials that often came into the poorer districts for inspections. However, instead he saw the girl from down the hall. She had only moved in a few weeks before, but he had already learned some about her situation. Her name was Rachel, and he didn't know much of her story, only that she had been vaguely famous a few years back.

She looked nervous, as she usually did. She fidgeted with her sweater as she waited at the door, looking as if she was attempting to stay polite but pushed to desperation by her nerves.

She had been a singer, that much Blaine knew. She refused to lip-sync to her music, and instead sang her songs live. This gained her much media attention, until she ran out of words to sing with. For some reason, she rejected the idea of the operation, and instead saved her money. Somehow, she got to a low word count, like the rest of the people in Blaine's building. No one's was as severe as Blaine's, but many had less than half of their words left.

He opened the door, asking for an explanation with the look on his face. Rachel hastily pointed down the hallway, where two government officials were stepping out of the elevator. Understanding, he pulled her into his room.

The government handled Rachel's situation rather oddly. Blaine wasn't entirely sure of the circumstances, only that it upset some higher up people that Rachel was refusing the operation. Because of this, she was constantly getting berated by government officials. From what he gathered, this is what completely shot her nerves. Perhaps that was why she moved to a poorer district.

Rachel immediately ran to his bedroom, where she sat down between Blaine's dresser and nightstand and put her hands over her ears. Blaine moved to comfort her, but a loud banging on the door stopped him.

He once again walked over to the door. When he saw the two stern looking men from the police force standing outside his door, he attempted to compose himself. Rachel was the closest thing he had to a friend on this floor, even though their communication consisted of small head nods of hello and goodbye. Still, he would not subject her to the torture of a police questioning.

Blaine opened the door, attempting to look as if he had just gotten out of bed. From behind their riot masks, Blaine could see that the officers were looking at him with an air of distaste.

"Good morning, sir." The first officer spoke. He was taller than the other officer, and seemed to be more experienced. Blaine gave a small nod in recognition.

"I believe I said good morning to you." The same officer said angrily. Blaine was taken aback, what the man ignorant or just plain stupid?

"Officer Jones, I understand the citizen is being rude, but he is most likely low on words, given his circumstances." The second officer offered. The more experienced officer immediately gave him a scathing look, making it known that correcting his superior was not to be done.

"I understand that. Now sir," the officer began, and Blaine fully expected to hear a question about Rachel's whereabouts, "have you seen this man?"

Blaine was surprised to see a picture of the protester from the day before. In fine print at the bottom of the headshot was written _Finn Hudson_. Blaine remembered the man screaming to the street. But what he remembered more was Kurt, calling the police on the man and then rushing into the bookshop. The man must mean something to Kurt, he just didn't know what.

After a split second of hesitation, Blaine shook his head. _No._ He was not going to turn in Kurt's friend.

The older officer gave him a skeptical look, but then nodded and walked to the next door down. Blaine hastily closed his door and ran to his bedroom, where Rachel still sat with hands over her ears.

Blaine calmly walked over to her, crouching down to her level once he got there. He had dealt with Rachel's anxiety only a few times before, so his experience was subpar.

Cautiously, he moved his hands to take hers off of her ears. She looked at him fearfully. He shook his head, and then pointed to her. _Not you_. A look of relief passed over her face, and she suddenly jumped into his arms, engulfing him in a hug. He awkwardly patted her back, not sure what to do.

Slowly, she removed herself from the embrace and made her way to the door. She smiled at Blaine, a friendly gesture that reassured him that she hadn't misconstrued the situation. Blaine was never good at turning down the attention of girls. Many of the women on his block found his lack of words mysterious, even though his story was far from it.

Every once in a while, he would get hit on in a nonverbal way. Every time, he would have to awkwardly shake his head and point to himself. _Not me_. It was a rough way to turn someone down, but he had no other way of revealing himself to people.

But somehow, Rachel seemed to know. Perhaps it was her cultured background, or maybe she was just intuitive. Either way, he was glad that someone finally understood.

_Kurt would probably understand, too, _he told himself. But he immediately swatted the thought away. Not only was that wishful thinking, but he barely knew the man. He had seen him on the street and had a ten minute conversation with him, which in and of itself wasn't all that impressive.

And yet, he had given this man his copy of _Hamlet_, and was currently counting down until the day that he would have to return his library book. Why was Blaine taking so many chances on this unknown man?

But deep inside, Blaine suspected that he was not wrong about Kurt. He had learned so much from a simple conversation. There was more of Kurt to learn, and he planned on learning it.

If only he could find out where to find him.


End file.
